


Stringing

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [34]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bows & Arrows, Fluff, Gen, Gen Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 18:05:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3218429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another request, this time from the great Lysistratus! (Sorry it's a bit short.)</p></blockquote>





	Stringing

“What are you doing?” Zevran’s amused question made Theron look up from his bow, annoyed frown smoothing out quickly as he was brought out of his thoughts to look up at the Antivan who had just entered the room.

“Stringing my bow.” The ranger shrugged, holding the bow up. It was currently devoid of a string, the old one having frayed at last to the point that the ranger knew he would have to replace it soon or risk the string breaking entirely - with his luck, during a fight. Besides, he’d not been able to get out of the habit of keeping the bow strung constantly, in anticipation of a fight that could come at any moment on the open road. Now they were staying in the Arl’s estate, he supposed there was less chance of that happening.

Zevran nodded in acknowledgement as he took a seat beside the fire, watching thoughtfully as Theron returned to his work. The ranger was wearing his plainclothes for once this evening, and seemed to be growing used to both ideas of other people being in charge of dealing with outside threats, and that it was acceptable to wear something other than his armour all day long.

The plain trousers and loose tunic exposed only a little more skin than his leather armour did, but Zevran found himself watching closely anyway as the other elf slipped the loop of one end of a fresh bowstring onto the tip of one limb, ensuring it was resting securely in a notch carved into the wood.

Theron tugged gently at the loop, ensuring it would stay in the notch before he adjusted his posture, stepping back slightly and hooking the wood of the bow around the back of his leg, tilted so the limb he’d just strung was resting against his other foot while he gripped the other end.

Zevran raised an eyebrow curiously, but remained silent so he wouldn’t disrupt the slightly awkward looking process. It was fascinating to watch the way the ranger used his whole body with the bow, legs shifting to counterbalance the weight of the tapered wood pressing back against them, shoulders bunching as he pulled the string up into place over the other tip. 

Theron carefully lifted the leg he’d threaded through the bow up so he could hold the bow normally again, and examined both freshly-strung ends with a critical eye, even plucking at the string in a way he hated anyone else doing to check how taut it was. Zevran hid a smile behind one hand pressed thoughtfully to his mouth, unsure of how he would explain it away if Theron looked up and saw it.

The whole process had taken less time than Zevran had expected, only a minute or so. He waited until the Dalish elf had adjusted the string to his satisfaction and was testing the draw weight before he spoke. The power behind the draw didn’t come solely from the ranger’s arms, but from his shoulders and back, even from his hips as he adjusted his posture slightly.

“Is it difficult to unstring a bow?” The Antivan questioned, and Theron reacquired that half-second of a blank look as his concentration was broken again and he was pulled back to the bedroom in Denerim, three fingers drawn up until they almost touched his lips, frozen there briefly.

“Since when were you interested in archery?” The Dalish elf answered, relaxing his arms slowly so the string groaned quietly as it slid back into place. Zevran shrugged, looking at the bow - and more importantly, the elf who held it. 

“I am interested in you, surely that is reason enough?” He shrugged, but made a point of flicking his gaze up and down the ranger appreciatively, a faint smirk on his lips. Theron rolled his eyes as he realised.

“I thought you were being too quiet.” The ranger grumbled, lowering the bow and sitting in the chair next to Zevran. “Staring at me luridly.” Theron shook his head in mock disappointment and sighed.

“I have no excuse, it is true.” Zevran nodded, looking at the fire as if in shame. Both of them were trying not to smile.

“To answer your question, no.” The ranger added after a few minutes of quiet only filled by the crackle of the fire between them. “No more difficult than it was to string it.” He glanced down to where the bow rested against the chair pensively, Zevran’s gold eyes following his gaze after a second.

Theron stretched lazily, joints cracking softly, and he settled back in the chair.

“Any plans for tonight?” The ranger asked dryly, and Zevran smirked at him.

“Yes, and none of them involve that shirt.” The blond replied casually, getting up on bare, silent feet to ensure the door was locked before he straddled Theron’s lap with a mischievous grin.

**Author's Note:**

> Another request, this time from the great Lysistratus! (Sorry it's a bit short.)


End file.
